


Honor Thy Mistress

by regim0n_z



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Gen, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22263616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regim0n_z/pseuds/regim0n_z
Summary: Astrid couldn't think of one thing that she feared, and that was cause enough to say that she had no fears. Her victims felt fear--it was something she inflicted, not harbored.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Honor Thy Mistress

Astrid was a vengeful and shrewd woman, and she didn't feel fear. 

She didn't fear death, for she was a Harbinger of it. She didn't fear being overpowered, for none had managed to overpower her yet still. She didn't fear abandonment, for most of her life had been spent hidden away in the shadows. She would be content in returning to that place again. She didn't fear loss, for possessions meant little to a mistress of the dark. Should it be Sithis's will, she would not hesitate to kill every last member of her Sanctuary, and would live with no regrets. 

Without much thought, Astrid couldn't think of one thing that she feared and that was cause enough to say that she had no fears. Her victims felt fear--it was something she inflicted, not harbored. Instead, she felt distaste. She had a sense for when things weren't working in her best interest. 

She didn't fear the decline of the Brotherhood, just like she didn't fear the Emperor's men storming her Sanctuary like they had the others. When she went into town, the Brotherhood's name nary held the weight it had in past days. When rumors spread of one townsfolk inducting the Black Sacrament, the rumors were told in a light-hearted and jesting manner. 

Skyrim didn't fear the Brotherhood anymore. This was displeasing to Astrid, and adherently frustrating, though she didn't allow herself to ruminate on those feelings more than that. 

In a bout of luck, perhaps, her family had grown recently and business was turning out for the Brotherhood, now that it was restored its beloved Mother and Listener, and of course the one who carts around the Mother and keeps her decrepit corpse clean. It was a change in the Brotherhood’s decline for sure.

Astrid was gazing over the fresh pile of gold the newly-discovered Listener had awarded the Brotherhood recently, when that same Listener took a step into her room.

The girl had gone from “New Meat”, to “Sister”, to “Listener” in a matter of weeks, which was a startling pace considering the rest of the family (the freshest being not-so-young-anymore Gabriella of 9 years ago). Initially this one, though young and inexperienced, perhaps in her second decade of life, had a special air about them. Later Astrid's intuition proved to be right. She had returned to the Brotherhood its missing Listener. It changed everything. Though, for better or for worse? She wondered to herself if she would have still taken the risk inviting a stranger into the Sanctuary had she known of their fate. 

In the decade since her last recruit, the Sanctuary's numbers dwindled down from over forty to now just seven. Some had been arrested or killed, some had abandoned the Sanctuary out of cowardice. At least one or two had blown themselves up inside the Sanctuary testing out Festus Krex's spells. Astrid certainly didn't resort to recruiting new assassins only because she feared the Sanctuary's numbers dwindling to none. Because she had no fears.

It was the will of Sithis, she reminded herself. When the Void is to claim her as well, who would spread the death and change Skyrim so desperately needed in these sickenly subservient times, had she not raised her successor? Astrid's eyes fell from her visitor back to the pile of gold.

"How lucky our family is to have you, Listener. We couldn't have all of this if it weren't for you," Astrid doted. The young Nord's gaze followed the Septims that slipped from her fingers back into the pile, and Astrid forced a smile onto her face in response. Though it felt more to her like a grimace. Not that it could be seen under her cowl, anyway.

The young Nord chose not to respond. Instead, she dropped to one knee before Astrid and unshrouded her face. "The Black Sacrament has been performed. I am here to deliver the Night Mother's will."

The new position enacted a laugh out of Astrid. Listener on the floor, and speaker standing above. She took a step out from behind her treasure pile and was now towering over the young nord. "Charming," Astrid muttered.

"Shall I deliver the Night Mother's message?" the Listener asked dutifully. 

Astrid was circling the room now. "You shall. But first, there's something I want to ask."

The young Nord stole a peak over her shoulder where Astrid was pacing. "Mistress?"

"Our Sanctuary is rather, I would say, untraditional. You are indeed our Listener now, but we don't have a Black Hand. Why do you report the Night Mother's will to me instead simply to the brother or sister you would have to carry out the kill?"

Astrid was finished pacing now and stood directly behind the kneeling Listener, who stayed put and simply bowed her head. "The Night Mother is the mistress of our Brotherhood, but you are the mistress of this Sanctuary, and my mistress. It still seems right of me to report to you... Would you have me do that, though?"

Astrid was pleased enough with that answer, but her fingers still reflexively curled. "No. You will continue to tell me and only me when the Night Mother speaks.” The Listener flinched. It did not miss Astrid’s notice. “Now, tell me about the contract."

She recounted an irrefutably cryptic message from the dead matron, naming one Sybille Stentor, of "the stacked-high stone citadel of Haafingar, the palace in which has not seen the touch of the Dread Father in far too long." Something Astrid could agree with. More obtrusive language did little to reveal the identity of the target, however. One final, "So is the will of Sithis," ended the report. And the Listener’s eyes dropped back to the floor.

Astrid kicked her boot under the young Nord's heel to signal "Up," though the Listener nearly toppled over before crawling back onto her feet. She now stood at eye level, with Astrid making barely an inch on her. "Good. I'll send one of our family to meet with Stentor. You may leave."

The coming day, Astrid was only bothered again in her quarters when Veezara returned with a fat stash of gold in hand. He was, unfortunately, the only of Astrid's assassins she saw fit to infiltrate the lively and very well-lit capital successfully, and with all their limbs attached in the end. 

Indeed, all his limbs were still attached and likely none of the patrons of the Blue Palace - including the target - saw a limb on him before, during, or after his kill. Other than the client.

"Astrid," Veezara hissed. "The contract has been fulfilled."

The coin pouch fell into Astrid's waiting palm. She weighed it in her hand for a moment and dumped its contents onto the already overflowing table of gold. "Well done, my brother," she cooed as the two both admired the glistening pile. "Now get the hell out of my office."

Veezara bowed in parting. "I dedicate this kill to our Unholy Matron, of course," he said in a mock voice. "Hail Sithis!"

Astrid watched the assassin leave her room with narrow eyes. This Sanctuary was surely coming to something when the novice assassin-child is better disciplined than the last Shadowscale on Tamriel. Could even she trust a damned one of them!

Once Astrid was alone she sat down to her desk and emptied the coin purse. The growing pile of gold did little to satisfy her, in the way accumulated wealth satisfies men. As a representation of the Brotherhood’s success, perhaps it did alight something small inside of her. Every few septims represented one more child returned to the void. And there were many, many septims. She hadn’t bothered counting them all, instead allowing another brother to pick a small wealth from the stack and disperse them to the others. It would hardly make a dent.

At least once had her husband met with Astrid here to ask why she was guarding the gold like a dragon would. That it was unlike her. She couldn’t truthfully answer. She was pondering something. Something agitating, something distracting, but didn’t know what it was. Staring into the gold as if her answers lied there. 

They didn’t, because for as long as Astrid had been sitting here, watching, waiting, not a single answer had been revealed.

Not long later that evening, another feeble knock was heard at Astrid's door. In stepped the Listener, again. "So soon?" Astrid said from her gold-stacked table. "Veezara only just returned." Only when the young Nord didn't reply did Astrid speak again. "Another child has prayed to their mother, I presume?"

The Listener dropped onto one knee again, and bowed her head deeply. This time she was already unhooded, and her bob was tousled in messy spikes across her crown. She had likely just woken up. Or, had just recently been awoken. 

"I… I need to apologize, Astrid. I told Cicero about the contract before I told you."

Astrid stared daggers down to the young Nord, but her voice retained its usual coo. "And why is that? Did you forget our conversation from yesterday?"

The young Nord bowed her head lower. "He cornered me while I was speaking to the Night Mother. He wouldn't let me out until I told him! I couldn't disrespect the family by using force, so I had to give him what he wanted."

All the while, Astrid fainted nonchalance by flicking a piece dust away from her desk, until she heard a better answer from the Listener. The young nord, looking absolutely crestfallen, continued.

"Then he said, I shouldn't obey your orders. He said that because the Night Mother chose me, I outrank you and that you should be obeying me. That's what Cicero said to me, mistress."

This, however, gave Astrid pause.

Astrid always had a sense for when things weren't working in her best interest. She felt distaste, or displeasure, for certain occurrences and mild anger for others. Never did she feel like her own position in her Sanctuary was threatened, because threats were always rooted out before they reached her doorstep. None in her Sanctuary had ever directly delivered such words to her before, past her defenses and past the door to her quarters. Here sat her newest family member, of under three weeks, delivering this dialogue.

"On your feet," Astrid suddenly said. When the young Nord was at her full height, Astrid's fist shot out to forcefully pinch her jaw , and she tugged her forward by it. Her face was only inches away from Astrid's now when she spoke. "You listen to me. You may have been chosen by the Night Mother, even by Sithis, to be the sole barer of her word but you understand that in this Sanctuary it is I that gives out orders. I, that is your mistress. No one else. Understand?"

The Listener nodded as far as Astrid's grip allowed. 

"Of course, you do. That's why you came to relay this information to me, correct?"

Another stifled nod. Astrid pinched hard enough to make her winch.

"Good. The jester is a problem for our family and I'll have him taken care of soon enough. You've proven your loyalty to me, at least."

Astrid pushed the Listener out of her grasp and she fell down to Astrid's feet once again.

"Still, I supposed I should punish you, for disobeying my order." Astrid turned on her heels while the other recovered, and headed for the mounted rack of tools on her wall. Devices for dismembering, scalping, flaying, injecting, and stinging; but none seemed like a significant enough cause for this punishment. Instead, she reached for the sheathed blade sat below the rack that was dusted over from nonuse. Astrid mentally applauded herself for her momentary brilliance.

When Astrid faced the kneeling Listener again, she was unsheathing the Blade of Woe before her. It was the Night Mother's artifact, and a recognized symbol of power and leadership in the Brotherhood. The blade belonged to Astrid, and it meant that Astrid was the bestowed leader of the Brotherhood. She was in charge.

Astrid grabbed a fist full of white hair and tugged the Listeners face up to the see the Blade waving around in her palm, but she was wincing too hard to see the act. She wasn't making a sound, at least, and Astrid could appreciate that.

"When you first met me, I gave you a test. You remember?" Astrid gave another tug to her hair so she couldn't have nodded. "I asked you to kill the hostage with the bounty on their head. You chose to kill all three of them. Smart girl."

Astrid brought the Blade to the high point of her cheek, and the razor sharp tip only barely brushed against the taunt skin, blemish-free and pristine, before a streak of blood poured out beneath it.

"I'll give you another test. You'll bear these marks as proof of servitude to this Sanctuary. They'll remain a constant reminder of where your loyalty lies. Just in case you forget."

Astrid pressed the tip of the Blade into the skin and dragged it down the length of her face. Immediately, a sheet of blood spilled out and dribbled off of her chin, though the Listener didn't react. She sat patiently still while being carved into.

Astrid dropped the blade a centimeter below the first incision. "Two more to go." With surgical precision, she sliced a fresh line an equal interval below the first, and a fresh coat painted her features even redder than before. Luckily, the blood failed to stain her freshly cleaned gloves, however the few drops that coated Astrid's floor simply added to the décor.

If pressed into the skin any harder, the curse of the Blade could have ended her life, and by the way the Listener's eyes squeezed shut in anticipation she likely knew this. For a short moment, Astrid simply appreciated the reaction she had elicited.

The Listener's forehead was glistening with sweat when she brought down the Blade for the last mark. Astrid wasn't sure herself the significance of the three marks, but something having to do with religion, the power of three, something to do with the Void or the three innocents she murdered… She was sure the Listener was probably calculating her own meaning to the three, and that was fine enough. 

For the final mark, Astrid cut all the way down to her jaw line. This time she cut extra hard in the center of the cut to where the blood sprayed outwards from beneath the Blade. The Listener couldn't keep herself this time and jolted when the Blade was pressed in deep, causing the end of the cut to defer off of Astrid's original path. She leaned back to view the jagged line and knew that this was distasteful to her, but the way the Listener trembled in her grasp and the way her tears mixed with blood were a pleasing enough sight. 

Simple. Easy. She wiped the Blade off on the Listener's armor. Clean.

She was straining against Astrid's grip by the end, and when Astrid released the Listener's hair she collapsed to Astrid's feet. Astrid knelt down next to her.

"Very good," she cooed near the Listener's ear. "Very loyal, indeed." 

Astrid scrubbed the last specks of blood from the blade's surface before she returned it to the shelf whence it came. The young nord's reflection was visible in its sheen. Small. Broken. Perfect.

"You've done well as a servant to this Sanctuary. To Sithis. Let's keep it that way." She didn't bother to face the other again. "Now, run along little Listener."

To see the Listener silently, through her trembling, stand on one knee and bow before seeing herself out left Astrid with a wicked grin.

Whether Astrid would entertain the idea of fear or not, she never had anything to fear to begin with. Not pain, not death. Not betrayal or usurpation. Not a coup. Because the most powerful players remained in her hands. Meaning, in the end, Astrid was the master of all the players, or mistress, as she preferred. The traitorous jester was rooted out before he became much of a problem, before more of his poisonous words had the chance to disturb any certainty the Listener had in her young mind. 

Impaled on the same blade she used to enact the will of Sithis. No mess. Simple and clean. A little prodigy.

And yet was the jester’s death the will of Sithis? It was the will of the Sanctuary's mistress, and to the Listener, this was enough. To Astrid, more than enough. Absolutely charming. She was a little flattered, even.

“We are all children of the Void. The time in which we return is growing ever nearer. Murderer or innocent, traitor or saint. Young or old. The Void doesn’t discriminate.” she announced as each sister and brother stood gazed over the jester’s sullen corpse. “Some sooner than others. Some in more favorable ways.”

“What better honor than to be slaughtered by the hands of one’s own sister?” Babette quipped from Astrid’s side. The little Breton’s eyes drifted to the Listener, grinning something devilish. Astrid’s eyes followed.

And when the Listener’s eyes met that of Astrid’s she was struck with an unnerving stare. No deep frown, no creases in her brow. But wide, menacing eyes glowing with something unspoken. Expectant. 

“It was for the honor of my mistress,” the Listener spoke, bowing her scarred face away from the others, and to the corpse at their feet. “Hail Sithis.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this oneshot laying around for a couple years and I've never been sure if I liked it or not. When I read it myself I don't like it but when people read it to me I'm kind of into it? I don't know. It's a little corny to me but I hope you like.


End file.
